‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾two☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

𝘿𝙪𝙙𝙚, 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙨𝙚𝙚𝙣 𝙝𝙤𝙬 𝙗𝙞𝙜 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙤𝙤𝙣 𝙞𝙨 ?

𝗜 𝗺𝘂𝗿𝗺𝘂𝗿𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗿𝗼𝘂𝗴𝗵 𝗺𝘆 𝗹𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗼𝗽 𝗺𝗶𝗰 𝗼𝗻𝗰𝗲 𝘂𝗽𝗼𝗻 𝗮 𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲.

𝙔𝙚𝙖𝙝, 𝙞𝙩 ’𝙨 𝙗𝙞𝙜 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙢𝙚 𝙩𝙤𝙤,

𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗮𝗯𝘀𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗹𝘆 𝗿𝗲𝗽𝗹𝗶𝗲𝗱, 𝗮𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗼𝘂𝗴𝗵 𝗶𝘁 𝘄𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗽𝗼𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗯𝗹𝗲

𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘄𝗲 𝘄𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗮𝗱𝗺𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝘄𝗼 𝘀𝗲𝗽𝗮𝗿𝗮𝘁𝗲

𝗰𝗲𝗹𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗮𝗹 𝗯𝗼𝗱𝗶𝗲𝘀 𝗮𝘁 𝗼𝗻𝗰𝗲. 𝗜 𝘀𝗺𝗶𝗹𝗲𝗱 𝗮𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗼𝘂𝗴𝗵𝘁.

𝗚𝗼𝗱 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗯𝗶𝗱.

𝗜𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗮 𝘀𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗜 𝗮𝗹𝘄𝗮𝘆𝘀 𝗳𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱 𝘀𝗼𝗹𝗮𝗰𝗲 𝗶𝗻.

𝗗𝗲𝘀𝗽𝗶𝘁𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗱𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗲, 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗱𝗶𝘃𝗲𝗿𝗴𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿,

𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗱𝗶𝗳𝗳𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗸𝗲𝘆𝗯𝗼𝗮𝗿𝗱𝘀, 𝗮𝘁 𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘀𝘁 𝘄𝗲’𝘃𝗲 𝗮𝗹𝘄𝗮𝘆𝘀

𝗵𝗮𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗮𝗺𝗲 𝘀𝗸𝘆 𝘁𝗼 𝘀𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗲.

𝗪𝗲 𝘄𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗱 𝗵𝘂𝗿𝗿𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗻𝗲𝘀 𝘁𝗼𝗴𝗲𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿,

𝗹𝗲𝗳𝘁 𝗼𝗻𝗹𝘆 𝘁𝗲𝘅𝘁 𝗯𝘂𝗯𝗯𝗹𝗲 𝗳𝗹𝘂𝗿𝗿𝗶𝗲𝘀 𝗯𝗲𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗱.

𝗬𝗼𝘂 𝗰𝗿𝗮𝗱𝗹𝗲𝗱 𝗺𝘆 𝘀𝗼𝘂𝗹 𝗶𝗻 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗽𝗮𝗹𝗺𝘀 𝗯𝗲𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝗸𝗻𝗼𝘄𝗶𝗻𝗴

𝗶𝗳 𝗺𝘆 𝗳𝗶𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗿𝘁𝗶𝗽𝘀 𝗿𝗮𝗻 𝗰𝗼𝗹𝗱 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗲𝗿.

𝗜 𝗳𝗲𝗹𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗺𝘁𝗵 𝗼𝗳 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝘀𝗵𝗲𝗲𝗽𝗶𝘀𝗵 𝗴𝗿𝗶𝗻

𝘁𝗵𝗿𝗼𝘂𝗴𝗵 𝗮 𝘄𝗲𝗯 𝗰𝗮𝗺𝗲𝗿𝗮 𝗼𝗻𝗰𝗲, 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗯𝗲𝗰𝗮𝗺𝗲

𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗹𝗺𝗲𝗱 𝗯𝘆 𝗵𝗼𝘄 𝗶𝗻𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗮𝘁𝗲

𝗰𝗼𝗹𝗼𝗻-𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁-𝗽𝗮𝗿𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘀𝗶𝘀 𝘄𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱 𝗯𝗲

𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗳𝘁𝗲𝗿.

𝗢𝘂𝘁𝘀𝗶𝗱𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗽𝗶𝘁𝗲 𝘄𝗲’𝘃𝗲 𝗺𝗮𝗱𝗲,

𝘄𝗲’𝗿𝗲 𝗵𝗮𝗹𝗳-𝘀𝘂𝗿𝗲 𝘄𝗲’𝗿𝗲 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗮𝗺𝗲 𝗽𝗲𝗼𝗽𝗹𝗲.

𝗜’𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗸 𝘁𝗼 𝗺𝘆𝘀𝗲𝗹𝗳,

𝙢𝙖𝙮𝙗𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙘𝙖𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙬𝙚’𝙧𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙤𝙛 𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙨𝙚𝙡𝙫𝙚𝙨 𝙩𝙤𝙜𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧.

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗽𝗲𝗼𝗽𝗹𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗺𝗲𝗲𝘁 𝗶𝗻 𝗰𝘆𝗯𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗽𝗮𝗰𝗲

𝗿𝗲𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗻 𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗹 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗹𝗱 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗻𝘁𝘂𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆.

𝗜’𝗺 𝘂𝗻𝘀𝘂𝗿𝗲 𝗵𝗼𝘄 𝘁𝗼 𝗴𝗿𝗶𝗲𝘃𝗲.

𝗜’𝗺 𝘂𝗻𝘀𝘂𝗿𝗲 𝗶𝗳 𝗜 𝗻𝗲𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗼.

𝗧𝗼𝗻𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁, 𝗜 𝗹𝗼𝗼𝗸 𝘂𝗽 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗸𝘆.

𝗙𝗼𝗿 𝗻𝗼𝘄, 𝗜 𝗵𝗼𝗽𝗲 𝘄𝗲 𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝘀𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗶𝘁.

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗽𝗲𝗼𝗽𝗹𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗺𝗲𝗲𝘁 𝗶𝗻 𝗰𝘆𝗯𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗽𝗮𝗰𝗲

𝗿𝗲𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗻 𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗹 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗹𝗱 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗻𝘁𝘂𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆.

𝗜’𝗺 𝘂𝗻𝘀𝘂𝗿𝗲 𝗵𝗼𝘄 𝘁𝗼 𝗴𝗿𝗶𝗲𝘃𝗲.

𝗜’𝗺 𝘂𝗻𝘀𝘂𝗿𝗲 𝗶𝗳 𝗜 𝗻𝗲𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗼.

𝗧𝗼𝗻𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁, 𝗜 𝗹𝗼𝗼𝗸 𝘂𝗽 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗸𝘆.

𝗙𝗼𝗿 𝗻𝗼𝘄, 𝗜 𝗵𝗼𝗽𝗲 𝘄𝗲 𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝘀𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗶𝘁.

𝗜 𝘀𝗮𝗶𝗱 𝗼𝗻 𝗮𝗻 𝗲𝘅𝗵𝗮𝗹𝗲 𝗹𝗮𝗰𝗲𝗱 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗺𝗲𝗹𝗼𝗱𝗿𝗮𝗺𝗮.

𝗛𝘆𝗽𝗲𝗿𝗯𝗼𝗹𝗲 𝗮𝗹𝘄𝗮𝘆𝘀 𝗽𝗿𝗼𝘁𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝘀𝗶𝗻𝗰𝗲𝗿𝗶𝘁𝘆;

𝘀𝗶𝗻𝗰𝗲𝗿𝗶𝘁𝘆 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗿𝗼𝗱𝘂𝗰𝗲𝗱 𝗺𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗺𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁.

𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘰 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 !

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 ? 𝘗𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘯’𝘵 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘶𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦

𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘐’𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘐 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘬 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩

𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘺 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘩𝘰𝘸

𝘐 𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘶𝘱

𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘵 𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨

𝘴𝘰 𝘐 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘪𝘵 —

𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘀𝗮𝗶𝗱, 𝗮𝘀

𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗹𝗲 𝗰𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝗰𝗿𝗲𝗲𝗽𝗲𝗱 𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗿𝗶𝗺 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗰 𝗰𝘂𝗽 𝗜 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗳𝗶𝗹𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘆𝗼𝘂,

𝗮𝘀 𝗳𝗼𝗮𝗺 𝗯𝘂𝗿𝗯𝗹𝗲𝗱 𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝗺𝘆 𝗸𝗻𝘂𝗰𝗸𝗹𝗲𝘀 𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗽𝗮𝘃𝗲𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁, 𝗮𝗻𝗱

𝗮 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝘁𝗲 𝗵𝗼𝘁 𝗰𝗼𝗿𝗻𝗲𝗿 𝗼𝗳 𝗺𝗲𝗺𝗼𝗿𝘆 𝘄𝗶𝗻𝗰𝗲𝗱 𝗮𝗴𝗮𝗶𝗻. 𝗬𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗺𝗼𝘂𝘁𝗵

𝘀𝗶𝗽𝗵𝗼𝗻𝗲𝗱 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗺𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗰𝗸𝘆 𝗲𝗱𝗴𝗲, 𝗰𝗵𝗶𝗻 𝗰𝗿𝗶𝗰𝗸𝗲𝗱 𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗹𝗮𝘄𝗻.

𝗜 𝘁𝗶𝗹𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗴𝗿𝗲𝗲𝗻 𝘃𝗮𝘀𝗲 𝗮𝘄𝗮𝘆 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘂𝗽 𝘁𝗼 𝗺𝘆 𝗹𝗶𝗽𝘀 𝗶𝗻𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗮𝗱, 𝘀𝘄𝗮𝗹𝗹𝗼𝘄𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗿𝗲𝗺𝗮𝗶𝗻𝘀

𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝘀𝘄𝗮𝗹𝗹𝗼𝘄𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗮𝗳𝘁𝗲𝗿𝘁𝗵𝗼𝘂𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀, 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗴𝗲𝘁𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗿𝘂𝗹𝗲 𝗮𝗯𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝗾𝘂𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴

𝗼𝗻 𝗺𝗲𝗺𝗼𝗿𝘆 𝗮𝗹𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗮𝗴𝗮𝗶𝗻. 𝗬𝗼𝘂 𝘄𝗶𝗴𝗴𝗹𝗲𝗱 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗽𝗵𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝗺𝘆 𝗻𝗼𝘀𝗲, 𝗮𝗻𝗱

𝗜 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗹𝗶𝗹𝘁 𝗼𝗳 𝗺𝗶𝘀𝗰𝗵𝗶𝗲𝗳 𝗶𝗻 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝘃𝗼𝗶𝗰𝗲 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗻 𝗯𝗲𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗼𝗳𝗳𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗱

𝘞𝘢𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵’𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩

𝘞𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯. 𝘚𝘦𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺’𝘳𝘦 𝘶𝘱 𝘵𝘰.

𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗱𝗲𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗿𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝗶𝗻 𝗺𝘆 𝗯𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗵 𝗴𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝗮𝘄𝗮𝘆 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘆𝗲𝘀 𝗯𝗲𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝗜 𝗮𝗻𝘀𝘄𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗱.

𝗜𝘁’𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗲𝗮𝘀𝘆 𝘁𝗼 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗶𝘀𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘁𝗲𝗺𝗽𝘁𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝗼𝗳 𝗮𝗻𝘀𝘄𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴

𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗯𝘂𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗽𝘂𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝗹𝘂𝘀𝗵 𝗶𝗻 𝗺𝘆 𝗰𝗵𝗲𝗲𝗸𝘀.

𝗪𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗰𝗮𝗻 𝗻𝗼 𝗹𝗼𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗿 𝗰𝗿𝗮𝗱𝗹𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝘁 𝗼𝗳 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗼𝗻𝗲’𝘀 𝗳𝗮𝗰𝗲

𝗵𝗼𝗹𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗺 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗮 𝗯𝘂𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗳𝗹𝘆 𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗲𝗱 𝗶𝗻 𝗮 𝗱𝗶𝘀𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆 𝗰𝗮𝘀𝗲 𝗶𝘀 𝗰𝗹𝗼𝘀𝗲 𝗲𝗻𝗼𝘂𝗴𝗵.

𝗔𝗱𝗺𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗺 𝘀𝘂𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗱 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲. 𝗖𝗼𝗻𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻. 𝗗𝗲𝗰𝗼𝗿𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻.

𝘏𝘦𝘳𝘦’𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸. 𝘏𝘦𝘳𝘦’𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶.

𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲’𝘀 𝗮𝗻 𝗶𝗺𝗮𝗴𝗶𝗻𝗲𝗱 𝘃𝗲𝗻𝗻 𝗱𝗶𝗮𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗺 𝗼𝗳 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘆 𝘁𝗼𝗹𝗱 𝗺𝗲 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝗹𝗲 𝗺𝘆 𝗳𝗶𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗿𝘀

𝘄𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗰𝘂𝗿𝗹𝗲𝗱 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗶𝗿 𝘀𝗵𝗲𝗲𝘁𝘀, 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝗰𝗵 𝗮𝗹𝘀𝗼 𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗲𝗱 𝗼𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗶𝗿 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗲. 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝘂𝗯𝗷𝗲𝗰𝘁𝘀 𝗼𝗳

𝘄𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘆 𝘁𝗼𝗹𝗱 𝗺𝗲 𝗱𝘂𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗮𝘄𝗸𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗱 𝘀𝗶𝗹𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲𝘀 𝗹𝗮𝗶𝗱 𝗯𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗶𝗿 𝗬𝗼𝘂𝗧𝘂𝗯𝗲 𝘀𝘂𝗯𝘀𝗰𝗿𝗶𝗽𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀. 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝘄𝗮𝘆 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗶𝗿 𝗻𝗼𝘀𝗲 𝗰𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗸𝗹𝗲𝗱 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗽𝗶𝗻𝗻𝗲𝗱 𝗽𝗼𝘀𝘁 𝗼𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗶𝗿 𝗙𝗮𝗰𝗲𝗯𝗼𝗼𝗸 𝘁𝘄𝗼 𝘆𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘀 𝗮𝗴𝗼, 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗵𝗼𝘄 𝗜 𝗽𝗶𝗰𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗲 𝗶𝘁 𝗻𝗼𝘄.

𝘈𝘩. 𝘕𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦’𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘳𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 —

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝗳𝗮𝘁𝗲 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗹𝗱 𝘄𝗶𝗱𝗲 𝘄𝗲𝗯.

𝗘𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗶𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗽𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝗱𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘂𝗽𝗼𝗻 𝗶𝘁, 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝗹𝘆 𝗰𝗮𝘂𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻 𝗶𝘁.

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗶𝗻𝘃𝗮𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝗼𝗳 𝗯𝗲𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗱𝗲𝘃𝗼𝘂𝗿𝗲𝗱 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗴𝗶𝘃𝗲𝗻 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘃𝗲𝗻𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲 𝗼𝗳

𝗽𝗲𝗿𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗱𝗲𝘃𝗼𝘂𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲.

𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘦’𝘭𝘭 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘧 𝘸𝘦 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘥𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨.

𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘢𝘺?

a panacea to the mortification of cognizance is liquidation of the self

and a side effect of the escape from my self- loathing is all the forgotten shards of me left behind i decided that the safest state of being is anything but recognizable back when i was a version of myself with whom i'm still on shaky terms:

the first of us to immortalize herself in the Cloud.

coalescing personality with personal mythology in order to escape the storms she saw in herself. i lost myself one night returning to her old hiding places, turning her hurricane shelters to vacation home wondering if her frayed edges could implicate me now.

gorging on the nostalgia of adolescent disaster

surprised at the taste of contentment morsels tucked away into the things she shared.

how the solubility of her spite increased along the continuum of screen time. her pride in being memorable, or rather, her invulnerability in being remembered.